Nowhere
by Muragaragah
Summary: Arthur is sick as per usual when the seasons change, but this time he is plagued by these strange dreams for a handful of consecutive nights... until something occurs that changes him for good. USUK AU, real names used. Don't like, don't read.
1. Alfie

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers. Copyrights et al. go to the series' creators/owners.  
>I felt as if I had to write this. I was inspired by <em>I Dreamed Last Night_, a song by The Moody Blues. I definitely recommend listening to it when reading the dream sequences, since that's what I had on repeat when I wrote. Might add some depth or something to the story. ;)  
>And this served as one hell of a good way to break my 3-week-long writer's block. I love USUK angstflufftragedy. Sorry if this thing starts kinda slow, I hope it's a good story... Please reviewcritique?  
>As always, reviews = love. They definitely keep me writing.<br>Enjoy?~  
><strong>Side Note: Please take a few minutes to answer the poll in my profile? =) Cookies to you if you do!~<strong>_

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><p>Nowhere<p>

_Alfie._

Charcoal-tinged midday light poured graciously through the one gothic-style arched window that dominated the north wall of blonde man's bedroom, its ethereal luminescence pooling against frigid hardwood flooring that covered his entire house. The grumpy owner of the home nestled in the center of his expansive bed, countless blankets warmed by his feeble body heat strewn messily around him. His choppy saffron hair stuck up at all different angles atop his head, starkly contrasting the prim tidiness that he worked so hard to maintain day after mundane day. Today, however, his care for neatness abandoned him: a rising fever drained the apricot hue that usually haunted his cheeks, dusting heavy purple shadows underneath his faceted emerald eyes. He appeared as if he hadn't slept a wink in days, yet that was all he had been doing for the past seventy-two hours. Fumbling around under the covers until his fingertips contacted a familiar plastic rectangle, he withdrew the remote to a tiny television set perched atop the stout chest of drawers that faced his bed and flipped the modern invention on, once again abandoning the wireless electronic. Weakly punching his quilted pillow to fluff it, he lay his head against the comforting object filled with goosefeather down as his gaze slid to the fuzzy television screen. A weatherman all but danced eccentrically across the 15-inch screen, pointing out different symbols on the map followed by a quick-lipped explanation of what exactly everything was and what it meant in accordance to the weather. A hand flitted up to the bedridden blonde's head and formed a crown across his forehead, pinching both of his throbbing temples with his thumb and forefinger, attempting to combat the incessant pain that rooted itself on either side of his brain. _Bloody fucking weak immune system._

Unidentifiable clatter resonated through the empty hallways and wafted genially underneath the man's bedroom door, only faintly alerting him that something had changed in the downstairs section of his house. The unexpected intruder burst noisily through his bedroom door then, his grating, moderately-toned voice already running a mile a minute. Anger exploded in the man's mind, intensifying the dull twang that barraged his temples to something resembling snare drums being beaten; his teeth grit automatically as he almost shouted to talk over his company's incessant chatter, "For the bloody love of God, you damned noisy _wanker,_ would you keep it down? You have no idea how bad my headache is!"

The other person, a caramel-haired, bespectacled man that appeared younger than the bedded blonde halted all of his animated movements and talking as his cerulean eyes seemed to focus on the other for the first time since unceremoniously barging through the door, crossing the room to the afflicted's bedside and plopping into the armchair pulled out of its usual spot in the corner adjacent to the bed. "Aww, Arthur, what's the matter? Not in the mood?"

Arthur shook his head before he realized that the gesture would only ensure the knocking in his temples to strengthen by a factor of ten, sitting up and in one motion prodding the malleable sides of his head with his fingertips. "Not exactly, Alfred. I've been sick for days, why in the bloody hell would I want to put up with your useless banter now?"

Alfred scratched his head in a rather comical fashion, careful to avoid disturbing his characteristic cowlick that piqued a few strands of his hair in the front before he responded. "That's an easy one, Iggy! 'Cause you've put up with me every day for the past three days, ever since you stayed home because you were sick! You never do well when the seasons change... it's a shame, really!" His head shook as he 'tsk'ed playfully under his breath, gazing upon his slightly blurred friend from over the argentine rim of his glasses.

Arthur's mouth shifted sideways skeptically as his thick brows furrowed, a few shades darker than the hair that partially obscured them. "And why, pray tell, is that?"

It took all of Alfred's self restraint not to burst into a fit of giggles that battled their way up his throat, attempting to pry their way into his voice box. "Pray tell? Who the hell says that nowadays, Iggy? You're so old fashioned..." If the person on the other end of the conversation hadn't been Arthur, the man that had known Alfred longer than either of them could remember, they would have certainly missed the almost imperceptible scrunch that twitched Alfred's nose.

"I do, apparently," Arthur mumbled, loud enough for his companion to hear as he laid back against his mattress, the growing thumping in his head forcing his eyes to flutter shut. "You didn't answer my question, you know..."

Alfred leaned closer to Arthur, his arms resting against the edge of the bed as his head found purchase upon them. "Nothing gets past you, does it? It's a shame because you never get to see the leaves change colors on the first day of autumn. You've never witnessed the first frost only a few days after the winter solstice. You'll never be able to see the flowers pop open in bloom on the first day of spring. And you've never rolled down a yellow grassy hill on the first day of summer to lay under the stars that night, the only night that I think you can see all the stars all at once..." His voice had adopted a dreamlike, airy quality, growing quieter and quieter until he completely trailed off.

Arthur's tense expression noticeably softened as he clung to each of his inconceivable friend's words, allowing them to echo in the vast reaches of his mind before he replied, his voice hovering barely above a whisper, "I can do all of that, Alfred. It's not like I get sick every time the seasons change."

He could hear Alfred roll his eyes doubtfully as his company shifted: he sensed that something novel and as summery as an August evening slip under his fine bangs to cover his forehead. "Yes you do. We're in a temperate climate, Iggy: I think the seasons changing bothers just about everyone. Good God, you're burning up..."

Arthur's steady breathing seemed to shorten at Alfred's remark as the something that felt his forehead was removed, the telltale sound of boots hitting hardwood meeting his eardrums. "Why doesn't it ever bother you then, Alfred?"

Silence filled the emptiness created by his friend having vacated the room, no doubt gone off into the bowels of his house to search for a washcloth or something to that effect. Arthur's forest-hued eyes cracked open as the world began to spin around him, the first waves of nausea engulfing him wholeheartedly. He flipped onto his side facing the idle armchair that Alfred had sat as said man returned, predictably with a damp ecru washcloth in hand. He returned to the chair as he leaned forward to place the washcloth upon Arthur's balmy forehead, robin's egg eyes finding and melting into smoldering peridot for the first time that day. Cool relief spread at once throughout Arthur as he reached almost helplessly for Alfred, tugging with what little strength he possessed on his chocolate-colored bomber jacket's long sleeve. "Alfred... do you have anything else to do today, after you leave here...?"

Alfred shook his head quickly, gazing upon his defenseless childhood friend in something akin to a trance. "Why?"

Arthur's free hand joined his other in clutching the sleeve of Alfred's bomber jacket. "Please, stay with me. I feel like death..."

Alfred straightened, unfurling his friend's fingers from his sleeve and as he stood he kicked off his worn canvas sneakers and shed his jacket, letting it cascade through the comfortable air until it hit the seat of the armchair immediately behind him. "You didn't even have to ask, Iggy."

He refused to let Arthur adjust to accommodate him on the bed, instead stretching out beside him and folding his muscular arms around the smaller man's narrow frame, minimally jostling the other. A hand flickered to the back of Arthur's head, pressing it comfortingly against his toned chest while making sure that the washcloth on his forehead stayed put. Alfred's free hand absently discovered the television remote, plucking it up as his arm curled around Arthur in a protective manner. "You look so tired. Get some rest, Arthur. I'll be here when you wake up."

A diminutive smile upturned the corners of Arthur's mouth as Alfred shifted for a moment, lips as soft as monarch butterfly wings ghosting across the blanched apple of Arthur's cheek. "I hope you know..." Arthur murmured, audible enough for Alfred to clearly hear as his arm draped across his company's midsection, his eyes slowly closing once more while his voice descended in volume and pitch, the unmistakable scratchiness of sleep underlying his words, "I'll definitely hold you to your word... Alfie..."

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><p>Arthur regained consciousness in a completely white room. It was impossible for him to discern the point at which the walls turned into the floor of the same snowy color in this otherworldly room that seemed to stretch farther than his naked eye could perceive. He bent for a moment as his fingertips grazed across the floor's surface, mild surprise overtaking him: the floor was as textureless and plain as it appeared. He noticed in passing that the knocking in his head had subsided, as had the unshakable fever that chained him to his bed for the past several days. It seemed that he was the only living being occupying this expansive room in the middle of somewhere that he had ever been before.<p>

A familiar voice, moderate and definitely masculine in tone, abruptly echoed around him as he inwardly jolted from the sound that broke the deafening silence. "Nice of you to come, Iggy. Follow my voice."

Arthur's feet seemed to possess a mind of their own as he began to stride forward, directly down the middle of the rectangular room. The tenacity that he usually possessed to question the living hell out of someone unknown that gave him an order to do something was abnormally absent in this strangely tranquil place. "Who are you and where am I?" he wondered curiously, nervous chartreuse eyes darting in all directions to take in all of his surroundings.

"You should know who I am, so I'm not gonna tell you. We're in a strange kind of place, really. This place has no name actually, so I'm going to make up something. I'll call it Nowhere."

An abbreviated sigh heaved Arthur's chest as he continued down the room, a hand flying up to scratch an itch that prickled the back of his head. "Why am I here?"

"You're here because you need some guidance. You've got a whole lot of emotional baggage that you keep hanging on to, you know that?... Actually, you probably didn't, but now you do. You were brought here because you need to realize a few things about yourself."

Arthur noticed that when the voice put emphasis on a word, its tone became slightly scratchy as if it had reached the highest point on its natural register. Nostalgia enveloped him like a cloud then as forgotten memories resurfaced, of sprawling out at night on his mother's huge lawn with a sandy-haired boy beside him, both pointing skyward as a summer breeze ruffled their hair and shook the flimsy camping tent nearby... of sitting beside a blazing fire in the dead of winter, with snow piled halfway up the windows of the first story of his childhood home, his blue-eyed friend poking marshmallows over the hearth... "Well, this is news to me. What do I need to realize about myself?"

"I can't just tell you! I'd ruin the whole surprise if I did that! Now, why don'tcha use that brain of yours and think for a minute? I'm sure you'll realize it before you find me, but if you don't that's okay too. You're gonna have an epiphany or something like it, either way you look at it!" The voice actually chuckled then, a tinkling sound that swept an unwarranted blush across Arthur's dreamlike expression.

Something popped into view then, seeming a thousand miles away and indistinguishable for the most part. To Arthur it looked like dense, royal purple fog that had coagulated at the end of the hallway-like room for reasons unbeknownst to the short-statured blonde. The urge to reach that fog coiled around him like a vice as he broke into an all-out dash, an action that he hadn't done since grade school a few years ago. His eyes narrowed as he ran: it seemed like the fog was moving away from him, or that he wasn't progressing like he had been down the room. He stopped, taking a few seconds to regain his breath. "What's that down there? It looks like fog of some sort."

"You'll find out in due time. Right now isn't the time for you to discover it yet! That's why you're not getting any closer to it." The voice paused for a long moment before continuing, its tone suddenly hasty and rushed. "You have to go back now to your reality, but you'll come back here soon."

Before Arthur could protest a huge, ominous curtain of pitch black descended upon the room, blotting out the bruise-colored fog and the white walls and floor...

* * *

><p>Arthur sat bolt upright in bed, thrown out of the nightmarish dream that had engrossed him throughout his latest REM cycle. He felt even more tired than he had when he had lain down for rest, barely realizing that a sheen of icy sweat dappled his face and neck. The washcloth that Alfred had placed on his forehead what seemed like ages ago tumbled into his cross-legged lap. Harlequin-hued eyes scanned the bedroom, noticing that the television set had been left on before his head craned to the left, something having caught the corner of his eye. A crumpled piece of lined paper perched in the middle of the nightstand that flanked the bed, placed in front of his digital alarm clock just so that it obscured the crimson LED numbers. Recognition immediately dawned upon him at the sight of the bolded obsidian scrawl that bled through to the backside of the page. He snatched the note off of the nightstand, the simple action sapping most of his willpower: his limbs felt as if all of the blood that flowed through them had morphed into lead. He unfolded the page and as his eyes flickered across the hastily-scribbled message about running to the store for some tea and medicine, inexplicable tepid tears shimmered against his irises as loss, the feeling of being isolated from the world and left alone, formed an insurmountable lump in his throat. <em>Dammit, can't that git ever stick to his word for once?<em>


	2. Symbolism

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers. Copyrights et al. go to the series' creators/owners.  
>To anyone who cares, I keep hearing Astaroth's voice from Atlus's VG Catherine in my head every time I write the omniscient voice Iggy hears in his dreams. xD random  
>2 more chappies after this one.<br>As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.  
>Enjoy?~<em>

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><p><em>Symbolism.<em>

The telltale clinking of a porcelain teacup jostling around atop its sister saucer sneaked up the short flight of stairs and permeated Arthur's orderly bedroom through the crack that Alfred had left on his way out to the closest grocery store what seemed like hours before. Arthur propped his quilted pillow against the formidable headboard and straightened as Alfred stumbled gracefully through the bedroom door, brushing it back toward its frame behind him. Emerald eyes darted directly to the tray that Alfred cautiously balanced in his hands, immediately taking notice of his favorite teacup and a few bread rolls atop the tray before flickering up to the face of the fallow-haired man advancing toward him. "When's the last time you ate, Iggy? I bet it's been a while," Alfred remarked, setting the tray down beside the television set on the dresser before clutching the teacup, saucer, and a roll of bread, turning toward his bedridden friend.

Arthur shrugged, scooting over slightly to allow the other to perch on the edge of the bed, handing over the teacup and dinner roll. "Thanks. I do appreciate it even though it might not seem that way. I know I can come off as brash sometimes..."

An intrusive, rosy blush crept across the bridge of his nose and colored his cheeks as Alfred stuck his tongue out and in one fluid motion threw an arm around the other blonde's shoulders without disturbing the laden teacup in his friend's hands, his face looming just centimeters away from Arthur's ear. "Brash? You? No. You must be mistaken, Iggy," Alfred whispered, his tone lower and somehow more mature than his usual grating cadence. "Now, see if you can keep that bread down, take some medicine, and after that will you come with me?"

"W-Where?" Arthur failed to keep the stutter out of his voice as his head automatically jerked a few inches away from Alfred's, his previous blush now conquering the whole of his apricot-hued face.

Alfred withdrew his arm as he hopped to his feet once more, wandering over to the television set. "You'll see. I know you'll like it, and I think you'll be okay if you take some medicine to keep your fever away. Gotta wait 'til nightfall though, 'kay?" His usual annoying voice had overtaken the low, seductive one that possessed his voice box for those previous few seconds, just long enough to send pleasurable chills rocketing down the length of Arthur's spine.

"Won't have to wait long then, will we?" Arthur commented, eyes tracing the bold white number 50 on the back of Alfred's favorite bomber jacket as he chanced a bite of bread and a sip of tea; his eyes wandered hastily away from his friend as Alfred turned to face him, extending a cupped hand toward Arthur while he paced back over to him.

Alfred dropped two teal gel tablets into Arthur's hand before taking a seat beside his friend on the bed once more, a heavy sigh escaping him as if he had just carried the weight of the world on a marathon run. Arthur thanked him quietly as he downed the cold medicine, keeping an eye on his company out of the corner of his periphery while he ate. "Something wrong?" He asked between mingled bites of bread and tea, leaning over to set his empty teacup onto the closest nightstand.

It took Alfred a few seconds to respond, swiftly shaking his head to clear it of whatever thought had possessed him for those few moments of solitude. "N-No, Artie, not at all."

Arthur's mouth twitched - he desperately wanted to believe his friend, but judging from the desolate and almost lifeless tone that Alfred's voice had taken on in his reply, he couldn't bring himself to. "If you're sure, then... Thanks for the food, drink, and medicine, Alfred."

"Sure, sure," Alfred whispered in response, his head turning away from Arthur to peer outside the arched window that dominated the entirety of one wall. He pointed then as the ghost of a smirk curled against his mouth, "Look, it's almost dark out. If you're feeling up to it, then let's get going."

Arthur's gaze jerked toward the window: the sky held a beautiful tangerine tinge with streaks of rose and violet that offset it, devoid of the salt-and-pepper clouds that obscured the natural ceiling for most of the day. The throbbing in his head had ebbed away until relief spread throughout his being for the first time in days, mostly from the cold pills that he had just ingested. He was surprised to admit to himself that he almost felt back to normal, save for his obvious lack of balance and depth perception. "I feel fine enough to get up... those cold pills work wonders. Where did you get them?"

Alfred slid off of the edge of the bed to his feet once more, offering a hand to the shorter man as a tiny smile upturned the corners of his mouth before he replied, "I brought 'em overseas from the last time that I went back home to see my folks. You probably won't find them here."

Ever stubborn, Arthur ignored Alfred's help and whisked the covers off of himself before standing, a hand pressed against the headboard's post to steady himself. "I see. Alright, let me change into something more decent before we go. Where should I meet you?"

"I'll be waiting on your front porch. This place that I want to show you isn't that far away, maybe around a few corners, so we'll walk if that's okay with you." Alfred crossed the room and threw open the door, one hand jammed into the pocket of his bomber jacket as the other yanked the door shut on his way out, chased by Arthur's meager reply of "Alright, be out in a bit."

It took no time for Arthur to strip out of his plain pajamas and find a pair of charcoal-gray jeans and a worn crimson hoodie that he had commandeered from Alfred almost half a decade ago, during the last spring of their grade school days. If he were in his right mind without a fever influencing his decisions, he would have never been caught dead in the tattered jacket outside of his home, but today he threw most of his gentlemanly ways out of the window in favor of comfort and nostalgia. Carding his fingers through choppy citrine hair and patting it down, he vacated his bedroom and descended the stairs, unhooking his keys from a nail jutting out from the frame of his front door and pocketing them before pulling the door open and letting himself out of the house, slamming it shut after crossing the threshold.

Alfred stood on the very edge of the yard, balancing on the crest of the gutter with his hands clasped behind his back, head shifting from the garish carmine sports car in front of him to tilt slightly upward to take in the sky. He seemed not to notice that Arthur had joined him in the front yard, though he showed no surprise when the champagne-haired man appeared at his side. "You gonna be okay with walking? We can take the car if you're not feeling too hot," Alfred inquired, his stance remaining unchanged though he studied his friend's expression from the corner of his eye.

"I'll be fine," Arthur responded quickly, reminding himself in passing of Alfred's frightening driving skills, "let's just go already, before the medicine wears off."

With an abbreviated nod Alfred hopped off of the gutter and into the street, beginning to march straight down the side of the road with Arthur tailing him. He kept throwing glances over his shoulder to make sure that his friend was still there, adjusting his pace if he needed to so Arthur wouldn't fall behind. It didn't take long to reach the end of the road, where manmade pavement met the lime-tinged grass of newborn spring marked by two wooden posts protruding from the ground. "It's just past here. Ever been this way before, Iggy?" Alfred asked over his shoulder as he stepped with a triumphant air in-between the posts, turning toward Arthur.

Arthur shook his head, warily eyeing the open field before him that rose into a steep hill, concealing everything that lay below its rounded peak. "I used to play in this field in my younger days, but I have not been here in years. Exactly why did you bring me here?"

Before Arthur could react Alfred reached out and grasped his hand, resuming his stride toward the hill a few feet away; Arthur thanked God that Alfred apparently didn't notice the immediate blush that scorched his cheeks from the gesture. "I told you that you'll see, didn't I? Trust me on this, it's really pretty. And I'm surprised you haven't really been down here since you live around the corner."

A short chuckle punctuated Arthur's shrug as he allowed Alfred to lead him closer to the hill; he committed to memory the surprisingly soft texture of Alfred's hand around his, how it seemed to radiate warmth, knowing that moments such as these would not come to pass as often as he would prefer. Alfred stopped at the base of the hill, at the point in which the ground steepened to form its side, and turned to face Arthur, letting go of his hand. A thick brow piqued as Alfred closed the distance between himself and Arthur and, before Arthur could tell what was going on or protest, Alfred's arms slid behind the shorter blonde's shoulders and knee joints as he scooped Arthur easily into his muscular arms. It seemed that Alfred could sense when Arthur was about to complain, because just as Arthur opened his mouth to do so Alfred interjected, "Don't fuss. It's easier this way and you know it. You'd get way too tired from climbing that hill to care about what's on the other side, and that's the whole reason why I got you out of bed today, was to show you the other side of this hill. So no complaining, 'kay?"

With a laden sigh and a scowl Arthur nodded curtly before shutting his mouth, looping an arm around Alfred's neck for leverage. The gentle loping rhythm that rocked Arthur aided in relaxing his muscles, tearing his guard down for one of the only times that he could consciously recall as he allowed his head to rest against an unbelievably comfortable spot on his friend, the pliable expanse of skin that lay just below his shoulder but not quite extending down to form his chest. He noticed that the orange that colored the sky had darkened considerably, seeming to lose contrast with each passing moment that Arthur scrutinized the stratosphere. The first few stars of a new night had begun to reveal themselves, wrapped securely in their blanket of fading midnight sky as Alfred's pace slowed to a halt atop the hill's zenith. "You know, I'm really glad you let me take you out here," he mumbled almost under his breath, his unreadable azure gaze directed in front of him, "you can only see this phenomena a few times in your life from the UK, you know that? I won't let you miss out on this because of some silly cold."

Perfectly comfortable to remain in Alfred's arms until the sinewy man decided to place him back onto his feet, Arthur studied his friend's countenance closely, searching for any sign or clue that could indicate unhappiness or depression, as the other's grip noticeably constricted against his shoulders and knees. Alfred's lower body seemed to languidly buckle as he dropped to his knees before adjusting into his normal sitting position, legs stuck out in front of him like a child settling down for story time. His periphery shifted down to the flavescent-haired man in his arms as a charming smile spread across the width of his face, coaxing a dimple out from its hiding place in the apple of his left cheek. A hand flitted upward to that dimple as a curious finger poked it, verdant eyes contacting faceted blue topazes for one of the first times since the two had been in each other's company. "I haven't seen that little bugger in quite a while, Alfred," Arthur commented, an unguarded smile upturning the corners of his mouth. "Has something been on your mind recently?"

Alfred's eyes seemed to tighten at the innocent question, his jaw clenching for but an instant before deciding to shake his head in reply, his head cocking skyward as he withdrew his arm from underneath Arthur's knees to motion to the sky overhead. "Look look, Iggy! This is what I've been wanting to show you. For years now."

As Arthur's head tipped upward his suddenly-tense expression broke, eyes widening in wonder as they traced the ethereal, cool-hued lights that sashayed across the sky in a dance orchestrated by nature's measured hand. He witnessed the lights shift from the most breezy teal to a hardened cobalt and back again, never touching on the extreme black and white of the color spectrum. "T-The aurora borealis..."

"Yeah," Alfred murmured, his hand dropping to rest against Arthur's knee as he watched the lights above, "pretty, huh? There are only a few times in select years that you can see 'em from the UK. I wanted you to see them this year... with me."

A surprisingly icy wind gusted from behind Alfred, caressing Arthur's face and bringing the heated temperature of his skin into shocking clarity: he figured it was because of the medicine that he hadn't taken notice of his ascending temperature. The hand that poked Alfred's dimple turned his face to Arthur's as their eyes met once again, their pupils finding their respective mates. "Thank you... for showing me this, Alfred..." Arthur's appreciative remark wilted away until his voice rasped, seeming almost desperate to finish his sentence.

The skin around Alfred's widened eyes tautened as the back of his hand pressed to Arthur's forehead instantaneously, obvious worry gamboling within the crystalline blue of his irises. "Arthur, your fever came back, we need to get you home and quick. You look like hell..."

The world surrounding Arthur began to swim, appearing as if it were a mirage he beheld from miles away as his vestibular and kinesthetic senses completely abandoned him, leaving him for all but dead. "N-No. I'm fine. I want to stay here... w-with you..."

"Your health is more important than anything right now. I know how vicious your colds can get... I was a fucking moron for bringing you out here tonight..."

Arthur tried to clutch Alfred's neck tighter, as if it were the only thing binding him to the conscious realm, but his diminished strength failed him. "You're not... don't say that..."

The last thing he could remember before a curtain of the purest black descended upon his periphery was the tightening of Alfred's arms around his feeble frame.

* * *

><p>"Arthur..."<p>

Wherever Arthur had ended up, he found that his entire body was immobile and unresponsive to the commands that his brain futilely issued to his muscles. Vibrant scarlet engulfed his vision - he was aware that he was staring at the inside of his eyelids, though he wasn't sure how he came upon that definitive information. A calm wind seemed to howl around his eardrums, a moderately-toned voice tattooing his own name into his ear canals. He tried to respond, to call out, to do _anything_, but found that all his attempts were in vain.

"Come now, Arthur. Stop playing opossum and snap out of it! This is serious."

It was then that Arthur regained control of his own being. Viridian eyes snapped open but abruptly squinted against the fluorescent snowy hue of the walls, ceiling, and floor of the endless room that he barely recognized as familiar. "W-What's serious, exactly?" he wondered skeptically, glancing every which way once his eyes had adjusted to the luminescent room, seeking the source of the omnipresent voice.

"Oh good! Seems you're awake. It's time for your penultimate realization I told you about the last time you where here! Though of course, this is only a necessary stepping stone toward your true epiphany. Either way, it's essential for you to experience. Are you ready?"

With a swift scratch to the back of his head, Arthur punctuated his reply with a nod. "I suppose I better experience this sooner rather than later... whatever this 'epiphany' you keep alluding to may be."

"Good choice! Now start running. Run until you can't run anymore..."

For once Arthur complied without muttering some snarky comment under his breath after the order was given: without a second thought to his health he burst into an all-out dash down the dead center of the room. It seemed to stretch with him while he ran as it did the previous time he had encountered this place, though he noticed that he bolted the length of the room faster this time than before, when he felt as if he was trying to move in invisible molasses. The deep wisteria fog appeared as a speck in the distance on Arthur's periphery like last time, albeit this time he found himself approaching it obviously faster than he had the time before. It seemed to take no time until he slowed to a stop only a few feet away from the miasma that imprisoned Alfred in its otherworldly clutch - he seemed to have lost the ability of speech. Alfred futilely attempted to claw at the haze, no doubt spewing a few lines of formidable curse words that never found a vessel of transmission. "Alfred... why are you here of all places? For that matter, why am I here? If it's solely to experience a vast realization or something along those lines, why do I still feel unchanged?" Arthur questioned the air, though his eyes lingered upon Alfred's shrouded baby blues.

"Why are you viewing the situation from such a stupid angle, Iggy?" the masculine, ubiquitous voice admonished, a harsh edge prevalent in its tone. "Think! Use your head for once! You and your friend are here because of a particular reason, right? You know that. What do the things that you see in front of you now _symbolize?"_

Arthur fell silent for a few moments, allowing himself time to recollect his thoughts while inspecting the foggy tomb with his friend at its heart in front of him. The bruise-hued cloud seemed to dissipate into the air once it fanned out a few inches away from Alfred... _No... is that actually coming from Alfred himself?_ "Alfred... he's trapped," Arthur deduced after a time, electric-green eyes settling on the middle of the other blonde's chest, where he knew his heart thrummed. "Trapped... by himself...?"

An amused chuckle boomed all around Arthur as the voice responded, "Well, yeah. That's the obvious conclusion. Do you know what has him trapped? He can't exactly get to you in that nasty fog even though it's apparent that he wants to."

"Something that he feels is distancing him from me... is that what has him trapped?" Arthur uttered seemingly to himself, though he knew that the voice would somehow hear every word that cascaded from his lips. "There's no reason he should feel distanced from me... what could it be?"

"Why don'tcha ask him yourself, Artie?"

* * *

><p><em>To be continued.<em>


	3. Epiphany

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers. Copyrights et al. go to the series' creators/owners.  
>The next chappie after this is the finale. :3 Sorry, it's going to take me forever to finish this story, I've got a lot on my plate as far as schoolwork goes at the moment.<br>Right now I totally know how Iggy feels in this story. I caught a cold. Dx  
>As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.<br>Enjoy!~_

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><p><em>Epiphany.<em>

Chartreuse eyes popped open to glimpse the familiar popcorn-treated ceiling of his bedroom looming above Arthur. He knew at once that he lay in the middle of his bed, splayed on his back across its downy surface, a fresh sheen of frigid sweat - he could have easily mistaken each drop for a tear-shaped globule of ice - dappling his crème complexion. Any remains of the dream that had churned in his mind last night had been banished from the darkened landscape of his brain with his abrupt awakening. A quick glance down his body told him that someone had taken the liberty to change him into a pair of laundered pajamas. The fuzzy sound of a foreign game show that charged the air with a humming electric current caught his eye as he slowly sat up and stretched before he realized that he was not alone.

The shift of clothes against some soft material forced Arthur's attention to his left: the breath that he had no conscious knowledge of holding in suddenly blew out of his nose as he espied Alfred curled into an uncomfortable-looking ball in the only armchair in the room, his head resting against his knees that he had pulled up to his chest. _He stayed. _"Alfred?" Arthur whispered, knowing full well that such a quiet inquiry would do nothing to wake his slumbering friend. "Alfred... Alfred!"

The caramel-haired man shifted as his head rose off of his knees, arms uncoiling from around his legs and feet dropping to the floor in one motion. "Hey Iggy..." he murmured, toeing the thin line between intelligibility and incoherency as he fought his way out of the vice-like throes of sleep.

"What happened last night?" Arthur asked, studying his company's unnaturally-calm face as he spoke, "I don't remember much of anything except lights in the night sky... and you holding me..."

Apparent rouge dashed across the bridge of Alfred's nose as he straightened up, hands darting underneath his silver-framed glasses to rid his brilliant sky eyes of invading particles of sleep. "Yeah... I took you to see the northern lights last night... but I shouldn't have. Because of that... and because of me... your fever came back and knocked you out for the rest of the night."

Formidable brows rose in response for what must have been half a second before relaxing into an expression of understanding. "No wonder I don't remember much of anything. It wasn't your fault, Alfred. Please don't blame yourself, at least for my sake. Thank you for taking care of me while I was... indisposed."

A hand waved through the air, punctuated with a quick shake of Alfred's head. "Nothing to thank me for, Iggy... it's the least I could do." His voice seemed lower in pitch than usual, as if some unforeseen depression deepened his usually cheery timbre.

Arthur scooted over to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over, curious emerald eyes never leaving Alfred's troubled countenance. His gaze alighted upon the heather shadows that rimmed Alfred's eyes, hardly concealed by his light frames... the total emptiness that haunted the perfection of his oceanic eyes, automatically casting fearful shivers down the length of Arthur's spine...

"I've never seen you look so dejected before, Alfred," Arthur remarked in gentle tones, resisting the burning urge to lean over and cup his friend's oval face in his hands. "It's frightening, really, what with you being so happy-go-lucky and carefree all the time... what's on your mind?"

Before Arthur's reflexes could override the control of his brain on his muscles, Alfred leaned in to press the back of his hand against the other's forehead swiftly. "You're still pretty warm, so let me go make you some tea and toast," he muttered, completely ignoring Arthur's question as he hopped to his feet and all but dashed out of the room much like a cat fleeing from water.

It took Arthur a few moments before his own hand flashed up to his forehead, expecting the typical thermal sensation to sting the cool flesh of his appendage, but no such event occurred; unexpectedly even-temperatured skin collided against skin. _Apparently my fever broke in my sleep... so why did he feel the need to lie?_

With his mouth set into a firm line Arthur slid off of the edge of the bed, hastily traipsing out of the room and down the stout flight of stairs leading into his diminutive living room. It took only a few paces until he crossed through the carved archway that connected the sitting room with the kitchen - his eyes snapped immediately to the bold number 50 that stared at him from across the room in front of the sink. He took a quick breath to mentally compose his words before shattering the silence that pervaded the entire open downstairs of his cozy home. "Alfred... I'm sorry to say, but I don't have a fever anymore."

Alfred stole a glance over his shoulder before turning back to whatever he busied himself with at the sink. "Why're you sorry, Artie? That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Arthur didn't bother to nod, instead taking a step closer to his unreadable friend before replying, "Well, of course it is. But it's also bad in a sense... because that tells me that you lied about my temperature just a few moments ago. Why did you feel the need to lie about something so trivial? I don't see any feasible reason that would warrant your action."

The saffron-haired man abandoned his efforts at the sink and turned then, jamming his hands into the pockets of the chocolate-colored bomber jacket that hung around his broad torso, his gaze shifted to the ground just in front of where Arthur stood. "Ya caught me, Iggy. Just like I figured you would..."

Arthur's arms crossed in front of his chest as he eyed Alfred, futilely attempting to forge eye contact between the two of them. "You're a terrible liar, Alfred. You used it to avoid answering my question earlier. Maybe you'll answer it for me now. You feel trapped by something, don't you?"

A foreboding chuckle that could have been a death knell for all Arthur knew resonated in Alfred's throat, rippling through the tense air much like a pebble chucked into the center of a mirror-like pond. "That's not really the question you asked me earlier, is it? Either way... I guess so, yeah. In a manner of speaking. I'm having a hard time deciding something. I think I'll regret it if I decide to follow through with my plan..."

Arthur's head unintentionally cocked slightly to the right as the gears lodged in his mind churned restlessly. "What can you possibly be having a hard time with? I don't think I've ever seen your knuckleheaded self have a hard time with anything... except math, of course, but that's understandable. And what plan?"

The peridot-eyed man could have sworn that Alfred visibly rigidified as the last question fell from his thin lips. Alfred's back straightened out of its slight hunch as his eyes darted away from the floor and instead to Arthur's face, making eye contact for the first time since their conversation had begun. His hands withdrew from his pockets to fall limply at his sides as he sighed before responding, "It's nothing really, Iggy. Just something I have to decide for myself. And I can't let you in on my plan, 'cause that's totally top-secret Alfred business right there." A cocky smirk etched across his face, though it didn't touch his eyes as his smiles usually did.

Minor irritation thumped in time to the pulse in Arthur's neck as his jaw tautened, teeth gritting just barely. "It's not nothing if it's bothering you so much that it influences you to lie, you git. In all the years I've known you, I think this is probably the second time in your life that you've told a fib. Please, stop this charade and just tell me what's wrong. It can't be that difficult."

Another sigh, this time laden with whatever occupied Alfred's mind, escaped his muscular frame as he gradually nodded, seeming to have reached an intrinsic conclusion. "Fine then, Arthur. If that's what you want, then I'll show you."

In an instant Alfred crossed the moderate gap that separated him from Arthur, one arm sliding around the jade-eyed man's petite waist as a hand flickered up to his chin, nudging it upward to look fully into his face. Shocked and wide green eyes melded with opalescent azure as Alfred leaned in close to his best friend, planting a gentle peck against the rounded tip of Arthur's nose before moving to claim his lips. Vibrant crimson blossomed in the apples of Arthur's cheeks, threading throughout his apricot complexion until color masked the whole of his heart-shaped face. Alfred's guiding cobalt pools never left Arthur's, even as the cadence of the shorter man's heart snapped into double time, blood beating mercilessly against the inside of his eardrums until that sound was all that occupied his hearing. That single moment could have easily encompassed an entire eon until Alfred pulled away, his gaze affixed upon the beet-red visage of his friend as if searching for something unspoken and specific. "I'm sorry, Iggy," Alfred mumbled, just loud enough for Arthur to hear though they stood not even a foot away from each other, "I probably shouldn't have done that. I should have just listened to myself like I started to and stayed in the fucking friend zone... I should go."

Arthur fought to find the knowledge of spoken language in the babbling mush that was now his brain as Alfred unwound his arm from around the other, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment in frustration before he crossed into the living room. "A-Alfred..." Arthur managed as he somehow tailed his friend without tripping over his newly-acquired pair of left feet. "Please don't go."

Alfred simply shook his head as his mouth shifted to the left for an instant before he spoke, his hand darting out to turn and yank the tarnished metal knob attached to the front door, "Arthur, I'm sure you want me gone right now. I made a mistake and right now I feel pretty stupid for it..."

"Why the hell are you so convinced that you made a mistake?" Arthur spat, white-hot vehemence coagulating into a hard rock that would put a diamond to shame in the pit of his stomach, its intensity inwardly catching him off-guard.

"Because I know I did!" Alfred roared, the skin around his eyes tight with bottled emotion, "...I'll be in touch..."

It took virtually no time for Alfred to turn and stride through the front door, tugging the oaken barrier shut behind him and completely silencing the pained "Alfred!" that ripped from Arthur's throat. Arthur's eyes still lingered on the place where Alfred's face had just been in the doorway, now replaced by the front door itself, for countless seconds before he came to his senses. _God dammit... I let him get away..._

* * *

><p>Indigo miasmic fog billowed out in front of Arthur, cloaking the entirety of the snowy wall that Alfred seemed to be leaning up against at the heart of the haze. "What the hell? How did I get here...?" Arthur questioned, anticipating an answer from the omnipresent voice that never failed to respond to anything that exited his larynx.<p>

"Isn't it obvious? It's time for your big realization, Arthur Kirkland!"

The same voice as before rang out around Arthur, though this time it seemed to center in on a location just behind him, as if the source was less than a meter away. As Arthur pivoted about-face subzero astonishment cracked over his head like an egg, permeating every thread of his being at the sight before him: something akin to a shadowed humanoid form stood a few feet behind him, all of its features indistinguishable underneath what appeared to be the same type of smoke that imprisoned Alfred. Whatever it was seemed to have what looked like the silhouette of wavy, chin-length hair where the head should have been. "W-What... what are you...? A shadow?" Arthur wondered as a thick brow quirked, attempting to discern any other identifiable features the thing in front of him might have.

"Not exactly," the moderate-toned voice answered matter-of-factly, "you'll find out what I really am in time. Until then, don't worry about it. Now... I called you here because you learned some valuable things about Alfie over there when you two were in the kitchen, _n'est-ce-pas?"_

Arthur bit his lip as he inhaled deeply before nodding in affirmation, deciding against asking how in the world the thing in front of him knew about what went on in his home. "Well, yes... it seems that he has some, erm... affections for me, as it were."

"What are your thoughts on the matter?" the shadow shifted as if one of its hands flitted up to its face to brace its chin in a thoughtful gesture.

Instead of usually taking a few moments to ponder his next answer, Arthur decided then to talk through his reasoning. "Well... it seems like it had troubled him for quite some time, seeing as how he was so adamant about leaving when I didn't exactly say anything after his... 'display,' you could say... is that what has him trapped? Those feelings for me...?"

The shadow shrugged, though the battleship gray hue that tinged the humanoid considerably brightened to a silvery-slate color. "Is it? You tell me, Iggy boy."

Arthur's head craned back to stare at the ceiling. "I... I think it is. Something tells me that it is... and I want him to be free of that burden, of those emotional chains... I want him to be happy again as he used to be. I've always wanted the best for him, even though I call him names like 'git' and such things along those lines..."

"So whatcha gonna do about it? Gonna just stand there and wait for the grass to grow, for the world to spin on its axis?" The voice prodded.

"No, of course not," Arthur shot back, "I want to free him, but at the same time I want to burden him by being with him..."

"Do you really, Artie?"

Arthur's periphery slid from the ceiling back toward the shadow, which had gained enough contrast to where the curve of its jaw line and outline of its body were now visible to the citrine-haired man. Some novel emotion frolicked behind Arthur's luminescent irises, determination weaving into his concentrated expression as he nodded once with ultimate certainty. "Yes I do. Even though that sounds so selfish and ungrateful, I couldn't stand to not see him every day as I do now, to not talk with him and make him laugh with my 'prudish ways' as he calls it... I think I'd go insane without him, honestly..."

Deeply saturated color bloomed in the gray nothing of the shadow that stood in front of him, defining it clearly now as a male human: wavy champagne hair framed his calm face, one curly strand sticking straight up and away from the rest of his hair. A pair of metallic glasses, much like Alfred's but more rounded at their edges, bordered incandescent violet eyes. He appeared to wear a plain teal hoodie, tatty denim jeans with the entire right knee missing, and a pair of black, broken-in canvas sneakers. "Okay, that's fine and dandy, but what does it _mean?_ Be blunt, now," the almost fully unshrouded young man in front of Arthur instructed, hands resting peacefully in the pouch-like pocket on the front of his hoodie.

"It means that..." Arthur's viridian eyes met otherworldly wisteria as a tingling sensation not unlike pins and needles vibrated his fingertips: he knew that he stood on the verge of the epiphany that the person in front of him had mentioned innumerable times during their limited encounters, "...that I love him."

Full clarity cast over the young man in front of him as a summery smile broke across his face, revealing miniscule dimples near the corners of his mouth. "There you go, Iggy! Good job! Now go." A hand flickered up to point just over Arthur's shoulder, motioning for him to turn.

The last remnants of cloudy amethyst fog that had previously enveloped Alfred fizzled out into the surrounding air, morphing into nothing more than harmless oxygen particulates. The jonquil-haired man seemed to mouth a silent phrase as he broke into a quick pace; Arthur mimicked the action but to no avail in the end - they didn't seem to get any closer to each other. Arthur reached out in the same moment that Alfred did, extending his arm until his muscles prickled in protest. The necessity to touch Alfred gripped his mind as they suddenly moved inch by inch closer and closer to each other, until Arthur's fingertips skirted the textureless surface of his friend's... just before complete blackness blotted out the stark ivory room.

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><p><em>To be continued.<em>

_You awesome peeps should totally go to my profile and vote on the poll there. S-il vous plaît? 8D Oreos to you if you do!~  
><em>


	4. The Red Sports Car

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.  
>This is the finale! At long last. Though I need to warn you now: this chapter might not agree with everyone.<br>As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.  
>Enjoy?~<br>**Side Note: Please take a few minutes to answer the poll in my profile? Cookies to you if you do!~**_

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><p><em>The Red Sports Car.<em>

Emerald eyes remained trained on the spot in which Alfred's face had previously been in the doorway, now replaced by the heavy oaken piece of wood that protected the entrance of Arthur's home. _What the hell just happened? Was I... dreaming? _Fresh memories of the blindingly white room, of Alfred's form trapped among mazelike purple miasma, of the unknown shadow that had morphed into a young blonde man that Arthur had never once seen in his life flew across the darkened cavern of his mind as he took a few steps toward the front door, arms hanging limply at his sides. His expression was completely blank: no faint lines of stress surfaced upon the plane of his forehead or pinched the corners of his eyes, no trace of a smile tugged at the firm line fashioned by his lips. _I need to see Alfred. I need... to tell him..._

He could clearly see himself standing in front of the anonymous young man inside that snowy room as he strode through the front entrance, only faintly aware that he had snatched the door shut behind him; his mind shifted to Alfred then, conjuring the image of his best friend sitting at a table in their high school's library years ago, drawing something obscene against the teal tabletop in bold black Sharpie marker... of laying within his protective arms as they scaled a grassy hill only yesterday... of standing shell-shocked in the middle of his kitchen as Alfred walked over to him, curled an arm around his waist and pressed velveteen lips to his own...

Arthur shook his head abruptly, trying to dispel the suddenly-intense mental pictures. His gaze scanned the charcoal pavement in front of him as he made his way down the street and around the corner from his home, allowing his heart to take control for once and direct him. It took no time until his feet hit sprightly crabgrass: he threw a glance over his shoulder, noticing that the pavement had stopped for a few feet before his periphery adjusted to scan what was in front of him. The same hill as yesterday loomed in the close distance, only the tops of the surrounding oaks and maples visible above its peak. _The lights that night were beautiful, so breathtaking..._

Shimmering cool lights against the backdrop of new nighttime flashed across his mind's eye before sliding over to the silhouette of Alfred's face above him, gazing upward at nature's design at work directly overhead... _you can only see this phenomena a few times in your life from the UK, you know that?_ Immediately Alfred's voice filled Arthur's head, ringing deliciously in his ears as if he were listening to some divine orchestra play the tunes and tones of his friend's intonation. He trotted up the formidable side of the hill, transferring from summit to ascension within a few steps though barely noticing that his body was in motion from the sounds that plagued his eardrums. He had no intention of discovering anything remarkable at the top of the hill - he questioned himself why he even decided to come here as the telltale siren of an ambulance behind him shattered the aphrodisiac sound that had fully overtaken the meek Brit, flinging him back into the raw clarity of reality.

Arthur found himself rooted to the spot at the very zenith of the hill, gazing out across verdant land that unfurled in front of him. A tiny alcove of nature that had been left untouched by industrial mankind serenely greeted him, displaying proudly the ring of aged trees that formed its border and a pinprick pond devoid of any fish or frogs albeit a single lily pad floating genially across its flat surface. _Hmm, I never knew this was here. I wonder if Alfred noticed this little pond when he brought me here... I'll have to-_

The short-statured blonde jerked at the peculiar feel of a hunk of plastic vibrating against his thigh, instantly derailing his train of thought. A hand dove into the left pocket of his slacks and fished out his cell phone: once viridian eyes flickered across the name _Alfred_ displayed in ruby LED light_, _it seemed as if Arthur couldn't answer the phone fast enough, though it only took the slide of a fingertip against the sensitive glass screen of his phone to connect to the call. "Alfred?" he asked almost in disbelief once the phone had contacted the shell of his ear.

A cornucopia of cacophony crackled out of the phone's miniscule speaker beside his ear; he could discern the distinct rustling of clothes somewhere far off as if a troupe of people were all running in different directions, the crunch of glass underneath a rubber sole, and above all the distant keen of an ambulance. Arthur could have sworn that his heart had detached itself from the inside of his chest and plummeted into his stomach as his pulse quickened, mind racing to process the random bunch of sounds coming from the other end of the call. He pivoted about-face and descended down the side of the hill as the snippet of a conversation echoed through the phone, a sense of urgency and vitality obvious in the unfamiliar voice's speech, "Bright red sports car... blonde man in his twenties... American driver's license... in front of Brown's Hotel... Ablemarle Street... call for backup..."

_Brown's Hotel...? That's not that far away from here, just around a few corners... what in the bloody hell's going on...? _Arthur pressed the phone hard into his ear as he broke out into a full-blown dash, taking caution not to trip when his feet hit unyielding pavement. Another voice, different this time, sounded as if it asked an unintelligible question from what seemed to be kilometers away before the previous voice answered, "...t-bone collision..."

The gears inside Arthur's head all fell into their places at that exact moment, those two words singlehandedly bridging the gap between the phrases he had heard only moments before.

_No...! This can't... this isn't happening._

"Alfred!" Arthur called futilely into the bricklike phone as the scenery of his childhood neighborhood flashed by. "Alfred! Please, someone! _Answer me!"_

It took no time before he emerged onto the main road, nausea churning in his stomach and his heart pounding triple time at the sight of an obsidian street sign that told him he now stood on Ablemarle Street. The claxon call of the ambulance's siren rang out around him as well as crackling through the phone's feeble speaker - he only had to look right to find the source of the sound, fighting against his knees that threatened to buckle underneath him from the scene that presented itself to him directly ahead.

Two ambulances dotted the outskirts of the circle formed by police and passersby in front of Brown's Hotel, one of which blared its siren at top volume. Arthur's cell phone slipped out of his clutch as he took off toward the gathering, slipping through the tiny gathering of onlookers to halt abruptly, colliding into a passing police officer. The officer gave him an odd look, apparently questioning why Arthur had just run into him. "Excuse me, sir," Arthur managed to find his voice within a second or two, "but I need to know what happened here. I think one of my friends might have been involved..."

"What's your friend's name?" the officer replied routinely.

"Alfred Jones."

An unreadable expression overtook the officer's stern visage until he nodded, beckoning Arthur to follow him as he started off in the direction that he was headed before he had been interrupted, toward the entrance of Brown's Hotel. Arthur tailed the officer, mentally bracing himself for the worst possible scenario, attempting to dispel the foreboding prickle of pins and needles that haunted his limbs. He passed a navy blue sedan whose entire front end appeared as if it had been smashed much like a tin can against a counter: its hood barely clung to the space above the engine, hanging halfway off the side of the car but not quite touching the pavement. What made Arthur hesitate in his pursuit of the officer was the young saffron-haired and violet-eyed man sitting behind the steering wheel that had been wrenched dangerously close to the windshield, one peculiar strand of curly hair standing up away from the rest of his wavy hair...

"Hey! Come on."

Arthur tore his gaze away from the youth to meet the agitated officer's icy stare. "R-Right... sorry..."

He trotted to catch up with the uniformed policeman as a jarringly-familiar, vibrant crimson sports car popped into view. Heavy heather smoke billowed from underneath the sizeable hood, doing nothing to obscure the deep dent that adorned the crooked driver's side door of the obviously American vehicle. Acidic bile bubbled in the back of Arthur's throat as the sense of touch abandoned his fingertips, a wave of ethereal cold washing over him. "Here he is, boy," the officer shot back over his shoulder before moving out of Arthur's way, granting him passage.

The thanks that Arthur's brain had spelled out across his mind never met his voice box, breath catching in his throat as he moved toward the stretcher directly in front of him. Never in all of the years that he had known Alfred could he ever remember seeing his friend look so weak and helpless as he did now, strapped securely to the sterile cot wearing thick ropes of gauzy bandages looped thrice around his head. His usually vivacious Atlantic eyes had narrowed to slits behind the argentine frames of his glasses, his face drained of its typical peachy hue. His head tilted skyward as Arthur approached, a hand rising off of its perch on his stomach. "Iggy... you got my call," he stated as Arthur grasped his hand, fingers lacing through one another's.

Arthur nodded, the cloudy afternoon sunlight illuminating novel tears that glinted in his pale peridot eyes, "Of course I did, Alfred... what in the bloody hell happened to you...?"

"I-I'm sorry, Iggy," Alfred murmured, his breath catching as a violent twitch jolted his frame, "I was s-stupid...! I shouldn't have left y-your place, should've just stayed... I tried to turn around to c-come back to you... didn't see t-the other car so I got h-hit..." his voice shook with the effort of speech. "Hit my head and s-side real bad... really hurts..."

"Which side?" Somehow Arthur steadied himself, forcing the panic and emotion out of his voice; he knew that at that moment, he _had_ to stay strong for his closest friend.

He followed Alfred's gesture to his left side by eyesight: he could have sworn that his throat had all but closed up at the telltale flash of dark garnet that stained Alfred's shirt just above his rib. His grip tightened around Alfred's hand involuntarily as he fought the urge to scream, to seize his head and curl into a ball, to pretend for just a moment that this hellish nightmare was just a dream instead of the reality that backhanded him. "Have you seen a medic? Do they know about this? You've lost a lot of blood already, good Lord..."

Arthur's heartbeat skipped as Alfred nodded. "Yeah, they b-bandaged me up... but it w-won't stop, Arthur... h-help, please... b-but stay here with me..."

Alfred's hold on Arthur's hand slackened suddenly. "I'm here with you, Al, but you need to hold on too, o-okay?" Arthur's voice cracked harmonically on the last word that fell from his lips as he tossed his head around to survey his surroundings, calling to the closest person, the same police officer from before, for help, to call a doctor as soon as possible, that his best friend was going to bleed out if nothing was done about it.

The Brit's periphery snapped back to Alfred upon hearing his name called, mingling in-between what sounded like a sigh, arching over Alfred in an almost protective way as his free hand joined his other one around his friend's. "Arthur... I never told you, I don't think... but when I first met you, from day one... you stole my heart. I love... you... always have..."

Those few phrases tore Arthur to pieces as the tears that he had been struggling to hold back cascaded down his apricot cheeks, falling off of his face to be absorbed by the cotton of Alfred's shirt. He felt then as if they had been isolated into their own little world, in which only the two of them existed as Alfred's words faded into the commotion and innumerable footsteps that resonated behind them. Arthur leaned down to plant a kiss against the blanched surface of Alfred's forehead, his narrow frame shuddering underneath the strength of the emotions that he had previously held at bay. "I l-love you too, Alfred... y-you have no idea h-how much, either..."

The shadow of a smile upturned the corners of Alfred's mouth before giving into an onslaught of coughing, his voice adopting a gravelly tone once he recovered. "Promise me you'll show me sometime... after we get through this whole mess..."

Arthur straightened slightly to look the incapacitated blonde underneath him full in the face, a forced smile piquing his lips. "Of course, Al... of course."

The light that barely flickered behind Alfred's irises seemed to dim at that moment: a free hand rose off of his chest to reach for his best friend but futilely fell against the stretcher, a wave of shivers rocketing through his body. "Artie... I'm freezing. H-help..."

Arthur's gaze flashed to the bloodied spot on Alfred's chest just above his rib, chartreuse eyes widening at how it had expanded down the length of his side in the time that they talked. "No... holy hell, Alfred, you've been bleeding all this time?" His head jerked to glance to his sides and behind him. "Medic, help! We need help!... This can't be happening..."

A few uniformed people showed up then as if on command - Arthur squeezed Alfred's hand securely, only to find that his close friend didn't respond. His stomach knotted painfully as he looked back toward Alfred to find that his eyes were closed, his pale face devoid of any signs of pain or discomfort. He couldn't recall very much after that: somehow he was able to explain what had happened to the doctors as they pushed his stretcher into one of the vacant ambulances at the scene. Though his memory decided to stop functioning properly after seeing Alfred appear so lifeless and dull lying upon that stretcher, he distinctly remembered one constant thing throughout the entire ordeal: the feel of Alfred's hand lying within his own.

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><p><em>Four Months Later.<em>

Champagne rays of light filtered through the gargantuan arched window that singlehandedly illuminated the entirety of Arthur's comfortable room. The citrine-haired owner of said room stood in front of a narrow mirror nailed to the wall, carding slender fingers through his hair and patting it down before tugging on and brushing off the sangria v-neck and black slacks that he had dressed in. Nodding inwardly to himself after checking his appearance one final time, he left the mirror's sight and whisked himself through the door, down the hall and down the stout flight of stairs, stopping for a moment at the door to walk into the full-black canvas sneakers that he had invested in a handful of months ago. He could almost hear his closest friend rave about the shoes that he had bought in a sepia-tinted time what seemed like lifetimes ago: _You're crazy to not have a pair of Chucks, Iggy, they're so freaking awesome and comfortable and all that stuff! And even though they're canvas your feet won't really get wet if you walk through puddles on a rainy day. _Arthur's mouth pressed into a firm line as he crossed the threshold into the outside, remembering to unlock his door before closing it.

_Why didn't I ever listen to him before all of this happened? _A formidable sigh escaped Arthur as he hopped over the gutter bordering his yard and the obsidian street in front of his home. His memory seemed to have a mind of its own as photographs of old surfaced in his mind, all centering on his best friend: walking around the neighborhood because they wanted to get out of the house but they couldn't really go anywhere when they were ten years old... complaining about how cold it could get when Arthur visited America with him, age fifteen... standing beside him clad in robes of cobalt, heart pounding as they both waited to receive their high school diplomas, age eighteen... arms folding around Arthur as lips were pressed to his own in the middle of his kitchen, age twenty-one...

Unconscious tears welled behind Arthur's harlequin eyes as he turned onto the main road once he had emerged from his mazelike neighborhood. Saturdays were always like this for him, a day to pick his memory and relive moments with the one man that mattered most to him before he arrived at his destination.

A towering building of sterilized steel and plaster loomed against a salt-and-pepper backdrop of clouds against the hidden horizon as Arthur rounded the corner into the industrialized part of the city. Jade eyes lingered on the very top of the building as he trotted up to its entrance, traipsing straight through the automated sliding doors to the receptionist's desk situated against a wall in the lobby. A handful of people dotted the familiar lobby that Arthur found himself in, most slumped over asleep in rigid chairs, waiting to be called on by the scrub-clad nurse sitting behind a polished wooden desk. Some eyed the back of his form suspiciously as he eloquently explained that he had come here to visit the occupant of room twelve in the intensive care unit on the second floor. The nurse hopped out of her wheeled desk chair with a nod and a whispered "please follow me," handing Arthur a laminated visitor pass to pin onto his person. The nurse punched a metallic button embedded into a nearby wall as automatic wooden doors to the left opened outward, striding into the room beyond with a foreseeable purpose in her step. Arthur followed close behind her though he knew it was unnecessary: he had long since memorized the pathway up to room twelve in ICU what seemed like eons ago. His heart kickstarted as they passed underneath the sign strung from the ceiling that declared the entrance to the intensive care ward, leaping instantaneously from calm andante to anxious allegro. Embossed room numbers flew by on Arthur's right: in one moment he glimpsed the number one, while in the next he saw seven. Everything seemed to move too fast for its own good as it did every Saturday, an endless cycle of events without a visible end in sight; in less than a minute the nurse halted in her tracks and pivoted to face Arthur, motioning to the room he had requested to visit on her left. "Enjoy your stay," the nurse remarked as she stalked past him, "please don't forget to turn your visitor's badge back into the front desk before you leave."

With a curt nod Arthur inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with alcohol-tainted air before expelling the novel oxygen, forcing his legs to move toward the closed, stark white door. Slender fingers trembled slightly as they wound around the commercial doorknob and turned, easily pushing the door open to allow himself admittance.

The gentle cadence of faint mechanical beeping enveloped him as he stepped into the hospital room, pacing directly toward the occupied cot flanked by monitors. His breath escaped him as it typically did every Saturday morning as spring-green eyes fell to the vanilla-haired man that appeared to be sleeping underneath one of the hospital's sheet-like blankets. A hand flitted out to cup his face, scrutinizing his abnormally-calm expression, the measured rise and fall of his chest, the innumerable plastic wires that no doubt invaded his wrists and chest... "Alfred... what's happened to you?" Arthur half-whispered to no one in particular, the visage of his best friend swimming in his periphery as a pair of tears streaked down his cheeks. "You've never looked so peaceful before... just like when you're sleeping..."

Arthur's hand found Alfred's underneath his blanket as he scooted a nearby chair to his friend's bedside, unceremoniously plopping down onto its diamond-hard surface. "You've missed out on so much in these past four months, Al... the leaves are beginning to change already. You should be here to see it, I know how you love to watch the leaves change colors... maybe I won't get sick for once around the first day of autumn this year, and if that comes to pass... maybe then you'll wake up."

The faint pattering of foreign footsteps captured Arthur's attention for a moment, though he chose to ignore it and cleared his throat before continuing, attempting to rid insidious emotion that would undoubtedly crush him from his voice, "You have no idea how dearly I miss you, Alfred... I've dreamed of finally being able to see your blue eyes light up with excitement as they used to, of being able to spend time with you like we always did in the past... looking back, I hate that I took it for granted... and of finally being able to hold you how I've always wanted to, to tell you to your face that I love you... I've only told you once, don't you remember? After that god-forsaken accident..."

Arthur's back hunched to curl around Alfred's hand, pressing his lips to tepid knuckles as he destroyed the barrier holding his emotions at bay since he had walked into the room, allowing his tears to fall at their behest. His shoulders quaked as he glanced up to Alfred through a tear-drenched lens, grip tightening considerably around his best friend's hand as if Alfred were the single thing rooting him in reality.

"Excuse me..."

A new voice shattered the deafening solitude that engulfed Arthur and Alfred, forcing Arthur to pivot around to face the intruder as his emotional barrier innately re-erected. Shimmering emeralds widened at the young man framed in the open doorway as recognition clicked within Arthur's brain: his eyes whisked over the flaxen, chin-length hair with a slight wavy quality to it, the one lone curl that stuck skyward from his part, until his gaze contacted pained indigo eyes framed by rounded argentine glasses. "It's you," Arthur managed after a moment of tense, awkward silence, refusing to drop Alfred's hand or move away from his bedside, "what are you doing here?"

The young man took a few steps into the room until he came to a stop at Arthur's side, an aesthetically-pleasing bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand, never breaking eye contact as he spoke, "I come here every day to visit him in hopes that one day he'll wake up. I caused all of this, after all... I thought it would be the right thing to do."

Some ethereal presence lent Arthur all of the world's patience then as a wave of calm broke over the typically hotheaded man reveling in the fact that he had heard the boy's voice before, in a world that seemed parallel to the one that they inhabited; he nodded slowly before replying, his voice hovering just above a whisper, "Yes... I think it is. I think Alfred here would like to wake up in good company. By the way, I never caught your name."

"Matthew," the youth replied, skirting around Arthur to set the flowers against the sterile heart monitor recording Alfred's vital signs. "I've heard from the nurses that you're Arthur. I'm sorry to have interrupted you today."

Arthur shook his head. "Don't be sorry. It's no problem really, I think that someday it was bound to happen. Destiny works in strange ways, doesn't it...? Either way, I think I need to be on my way."

Matthew's fine eyebrows knitted before he nodded. "Alright. Could I... give you my phone number? Would that be okay? You could call if you need anything..."

"Sure, sure," Arthur murmured before he stood, snatching a stray pen out of one of his pants pockets and uncapping it with his teeth, holding it at the ready above the back of his hand that still held Alfred's. "When you're ready, then."

It took no time for Arthur to jab Matthew's cell phone number into the pliable skin covering the back of his hand. He tossed the pen into the nearest corner of Alfred's ICU room while turning back toward his friend, back arching as he leaned toward Alfred and planted a chaste kiss to the middle of his forehead before returning his hand to his side. "Thanks for visiting him, Matthew," Arthur muttered, turning to face his new acquaintance, "it... it means a lot to me. I'll call if I need anything or if he wakes up. I truly appreciate it."

"Anytime," Matthew nodded as Arthur brushed gruffly past him, hands jabbed into the shallow pockets of his slacks.

The petite Brit allowed his body to shift into autopilot as the gears in his mind churned, processing all that had happened in the past half hour: he envisioned Matthew's face adorned with an expression of pure naivety before flickering over to Alfred before the accident occurred, gazing up into the night sky as the aurora borealis glittered overhead, lost in childish wonder despite his adult countenance... Arthur handed the receptionist his visitor's badge to the nurse behind the desk in the hospital's lobby without so much as attempting to fashion meaningless small talk as he normally would had he been operating under routine circumstances. The urge to break into a full dash tingled Arthur's fingertips at the sight of the exit, the action was easily resisted; his hands balled into fists within his pockets as he calmly strode through the automatic sliding doors separating the hospital from the rest of the natural world, a laden sigh escaping his slightly-parted lips before walking with the evenly-paved road away from the bustling city of London. His mind cleared itself, seemingly out of psychological defense, as he followed the manmade path until his feet met a familiar grassy interlude.

He had no need to glance up to know where he was as the ground underfoot shaped into a slightly-steep grade, leading to an eventual peak before extending back down to sea level. Arthur halted as the side of the hill flattened into a diminutive plateau, knowing for certain that he had already scaled the side of the hill that Alfred had shown him what felt like centuries ago. Quartzite tears cascaded from forest-hued eyes with no holds barred as Arthur's face tilted skyward, concentrating on the rare cerulean patch of sky blemishing the center of a fathomless blanket of charcoal clouds forming a halo overtop the place in which he stood.

_Please, God... Bring Alfie back to me._

* * *

><p><em>Fin.<em>


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